


Remember

by NanakiBH



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Memory Loss, Reunions, Tearjerker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanakiBH/pseuds/NanakiBH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past was there to remind him that there was something he was missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write another reunion between Kaneki and Tsukiyama before they see each other again in canon.

_Accept me..._

It was happening again. Except this time, he was locked in a dream. Turning left, turning right, he saw nothing but an expanse of black stretching out as far as the eye could see. In a second, the darkness consumed itself and a crowd of white tiles rapidly approached and spread out beneath his feet. With the white and black alternating squares beneath him, he finally felt like he had a grasp of which way was up and which was down, but he couldn't tell from which direction the voice was calling from.

It continued to whisper hollowly, anxiously, like it was growing impatient.

It was tired of asking nicely.

He knew he was sleeping. This was nothing but a dream, and yet a cold sweat broke out over his forehead. The voice was no illusion. Even in his waking hours, he heard it, begging to be acknowledged.

If it were only in his head, then he thought he had nothing to fear. It couldn't reach out and touch him. It couldn't force him to do anything, he thought.

After telling himself that so many times, he was starting to fear that it had more control over him than he realized. He had the feeling that if he let down his guard for even a second, it was going to stop asking. The moment he stopped noticing it would be the moment that it succeeded.

One way or another, that voice would become the voice of his everyday thoughts without him even noticing. At that point, he was afraid that he wouldn't even be able to tell the difference.

There was silence.

His awareness began to slip back into the pleasant side of the darkness, the white squares beneath his feet blurring, their edges blurring into the darkness that surrounded them. For a second, he let himself relax, still foolish enough to expect a peaceful sleep before ten cold, black-tipped fingers slowly closed around his neck from behind. Helpless, with no way to escape, a deep, pronounced feeling of despair filled his chest.

“Please,” he said quietly. Somewhere on the other side of sleep, he heard his voice say the word aloud, and the silence of his bedroom responded.

He didn't know what else to say. To the one who desperately wanted to assume his body, he should have had more to say. It distressed him that he couldn't think of anything beyond a pitiful plea. He didn't even know what he was begging him for.

Its silence unnerved him. Its presence frightened him, but more frightening was the thought of it merging with him or disappearing completely. He felt a sickening curiosity alongside his fear.

He wanted to know him.

At the same time, fearing the person he used to be, wanting to protect his present life, he held up his defenses. The wall he built was fragile, though. From the other side of it, he could still hear the voice and his hands could still reach him. Despite how white those hands looked, they were unsettlingly warm against his skin.

_Remember._

The voice that whispered close to his ear was insistent. He wanted him to listen.

The fingers around his neck tightened slightly, then released him, and he felt a light push from behind.

He awoke with a start, feeling as though he'd fallen into his bed after being pushed from a great height. As always after one of these unusual 'visits' from his past self, he looked around his room, like he was half-expecting to see someone else there beside him. Reality was more disappointing than that. There was nothing before him but the darkness of his room, the black shadows pierced by the light of the moon from his window.

After something like that, it was going to be difficult for him to fall back asleep without worrying about what he was going to encounter once his eyes were closed. His sleep was already rough enough as it is without the dreams. That night, he went straight to his room and fell asleep without changing out of the clothes he wore to work. His belt was still in its loops, his shirt still buttoned, and his tie still tight. At this hour, it felt suffocating.

Tossing back the sheets, he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. With a tumultuous feeling pulsating unsteadily in his chest, he wrapped his hands around his neck. He drew in a cold breath, realizing with a certain lack of surprise that his fingers lacked the warmth he felt in his dream. Those fingers, which undoubtedly also belonged to him, felt like they belonged to someone else.

The red eyes that started at him so coldly in the darkness managed to carry a warmth that he seemed incapable of.

Letting his hands fall, he pushed himself up from the bed and went to the window. Hoping to distract himself with the night view, he reached out to open the blinds a little more, but his hand stilled as he noticed something unexpected from the corner of his eye. On top of the chest near the window was an envelope; a card with a single rose delicately resting atop it. He wasn't the one to put it there, that much he knew. Suspicious, he moved the rose aside and picked up the card.

Idly, he wondered if one of the others had left it there for him, but he hadn't noticed it earlier. Granted, there had been a lot on his mind, but he was pretty sure that he would have noticed something like this.

As he brought the card closer, his nose was met by a familiar scent. As soon as it hit his head, it made him feel dizzy, and he needed to lean against the chest just to keep himself up. It was powerful. Though it seemed to have been only lightly applied to the envelope, the spicy, heavy scent of a cologne sat on his senses with a nearly physical presence. It wasn't something worn by anyone in the chateau, yet it was familiar.

It was too late for him to find out if any of the others had left it there, but he suspected that none of them would've known where it came from anyway. Rubbing at his bleary eyes, he returned to his bedside with it and retrieved his glasses from the nightstand. With his glasses on, he returned to the window to use the light from the moon to read what it said on the outside of the envelope.

_Mon Amour_ , it said, written in the dead center of the envelope in beautiful, elegant handwriting. He was a master of French by no means, but he knew what it meant. By the look (and the smell) of it, this appeared to be a letter from an admirer. Despite its odd, sudden appearance, he felt his face heating up, confused and somewhat flattered, even, that someone would leave him a love letter. If it were from someone in his squad, he was afraid that he wouldn't know how to respond to them. This was rather sudden.

On the other side, the envelope was sealed by red wax with an impression made upon it by a seal or signet with an unusual design. Squinting, he held it up closer and tilted it to let the moonlight define its shape. It had what looked to be a coat of arms with a moon and a rose on it.

Glancing at the rose on the chest, he wondered if that had anything to do with it.

Or maybe the sender just really liked flowers.

Either way, his curiosity was about to get the better of him. It was going to be difficult for him to fall back asleep as it was, anyway. Whatever awaited him inside the envelope was expected to be something that would stay on his mind and keep him awake, but, if he was just going to be awake anyway, then he didn't mind having something else to think about to distract him from the voice.

The seal was kind of pretty. If, at worst, the envelope came from someone who needed to be investigated, the seal would probably be an important piece of evidence. More than that, he would've felt bad for breaking it, so he did his best to rip the envelope just above the seal and opened it and pulled the letter out from inside.

The letter itself was also handwritten. Based on its contents, its sender was clearly someone who knew him. With each word, he felt his heart sink deeper into his chest until it felt as though a black hole had appeared within him to swallow it whole.

_My dearest,_

_After my twentieth time attempting this letter, I have decided that words cannot express how much I have missed you._

_I wish for us to meet, for your eyes to see the sincerity which I am unable to convey through simple words. It is my understanding that you may not even remember who I am, but you have not left my mind for all this time._

_From now until forever, I will be waiting for you._

After that, there was a request to meet at a familiar place; the park that was only a few blocks away from the chateau. Notably, the letter was unsigned. The sender seemed either resigned that he wouldn't remember their name if they left it or was hopeful that he would recall it on his own. Unfortunately, no name came to mind. He wished that it would appear at the tip of his tongue, but there was only a cold, vague feeling inside of him as he stared at the graceful curves of the handwriting.

He wanted to meet them. Rather, he felt compelled to meet them.

He couldn't hear the voice, but a part of him felt as if it were reaching out, seeking to grasp the one who sent this letter. Whoever they were, it sounded like they may have been involved with each other in the past. It was something he had considered every now and then. He was sure that he must have had friends who had been left behind, but he feared that he may have left someone brokenhearted.

There weren't many people who knew about his situation, so the sender probably wasn't someone who was looking to take advantage of him, but it was a possibility that would've been foolish to ignore. It pained him to think that there was someone who was in this much pain because he failed to remember them. However, even if he were to meet them, his memory was so unreliable that he wouldn't know what to think. He would have no choice but to trust whatever they told him, and that was frightening enough on its own.

It was a bad idea for him to meet someone he used to know. The probability that they were a ghoul was very high. If they saw what he was doing now...

No, judging by the letter, they already knew. Even knowing that he was a CCG investigator, they still wanted to meet him.

This person had to be some kind of idiot.

That was fine then. They were in the same boat. He was feeling tired enough to do something stupid.

Folding the letter, he put it in his back pocket and placed his glasses back on his nightstand. He didn't care about taking a look at himself in the mirror. It was late, so whoever he was meeting was just going to have to understand that he got out of bed to come see them. Before he left his room, he looked at the case resting near his closet and considered taking it with him just to be safe, but, for some reason, he left it. He had the feeling he wasn't going to need it. Sliding out of his room, he crept quietly through the house. He put on his shoes at the door and left with his key.

The park was within walking distance. He knew that it wouldn't take long for him to get there, so he left his jacket hanging in his room. After about a block of walking, he already regretted that he left it behind, feeling the cold night air biting at his fingers. Holding one hand in the other, he brought them close to his face to blow on them and hurried his pace. To distract himself from the cold, he tried to think of other things, but his thoughts kept returning to the one who awaited him. He continued to move faster, faster, until he was moving at a near sprint, hurrying as if the cold would leave him when he saw that person's face.

There was nothing to explain the way that he felt, but, as his feet finally reached the sidewalk just outside the park, he realized that he missed them, too. It was a feeling strong enough to shatter him.

He didn't want that again. He remembered what happened the last time, when the man behind the Serpent mask recognized him. If he broke down again, there would be no one there to stop him.

For a few minutes, he stayed outside the park entrance, taking a seat on a bench to rest his head in his hands. As the panic inside of him subsided, it was replaced by another persistent worry. It bothered him that his ghoul nature was something that needed to be controlled. He understood that it was wrong for him to subsist on the lives of others – that much went without saying – but he hated that he needed to hide the fact that he was a ghoul. Even if he kept it in, even if he stopped consuming human flesh, they would still look at him with those cold eyes.

The ones in his dream didn't look at him that way. The voice was desperate to control him, but it didn't judge or revile him.

The person who waited for him... Maybe he would be the same.

With that realization, he suddenly felt like he had less to fear. Standing up from the bench, he removed the letter from his pocket and unfolded it. Bringing it close, he took a deep breath of the cologne that lingered on it. The handwriting still didn't move him, but the scent was just familiar enough to make him feel at ease. It scratched at a part of him from the past and encouraged him to keep walking, moving his feet toward the present.

What awaited him wasn't his past. Even standing still, no person could remain unmoved by time. Whoever they were... Without even meeting them yet, he understood that they had been suffering too.

He ran to the place where the letter specified; the fountain at the center of the park. There was no reason for him to run, but he wanted to know what was waiting for him. Whether it was good or bad, whether it broke him down and tore him apart, he didn't care. His heart had returned, filled with fragile hope. His expectations were big enough to destroy him, but he ran as if he could leap over them. Whatever was on the other side, wherever he landed, he prayed that there would be something to finally reward him for everything he endured.

Nearing the fountain, his feet stilled. A man in a suit and long overcoat sat at the edge of the fountain, holding his hands between his knees. He looked to be preoccupied with his own thoughts until he noticed him standing there. And when he looked up...

That handsome face was a face he recognized. His eyes, though full of pain, were warm.

He held a hand to his mouth, but the voice within him broke free and cried out his name. It spontaneously sprung from him, from a place he didn't even know existed. Once it was out, he felt weak, like the effort to recall it had spent all of his energy.

Before he could fall to his knees, he felt two arms encircle him and pull him close, holding him to his chest. Burying his nose against that person's chest, he noticed that the scent was the same as the one on the letter that he still had clutched in his left hand. Although he couldn't pull a single specific memory from his head to recall who this person was, he was certain that he knew him. When his name came from his mouth, he felt an overwhelming flood of emotion. Just like he had feared, it was enough to make him crumble, but the arms that surrounded him had been there to hold him up.

He didn't know why he was crying. Both of them were now. But he held him back, curling his fingers in the fabric of his coat, pressing his face against his chest as he let out every shameful and pitiful cry that he'd held back, afraid to let anyone else hear for the past three years. His own tears startled him as they ran hot down his cheeks.

The man pulled back. He held his face in his hands and their reddened eyes met.

“I'm so glad you came,” he said tearfully. “I almost didn't come because I felt so certain that you wouldn't. I was afraid of being disappointed.”

“I didn't know what to expect, either. I just... I had a feeling that it would be worth my while to meet you.”

After breathing a long, exhausted sigh, he was gently guided back to the fountain where they took a seat next to each other.

For a long time after that, they didn't say anything, but he could feel the other taking glances at him whenever he thought he wouldn't notice. He didn't get a lot of sleep, and he did a lot of running, but that wasn't what made him feel so exhausted. The truth was, he couldn't remember the last time he had let himself cry like that in front of another person. This man didn't seem to find it odd at all. He even cried a lot himself while he held him, and there were still a few glistening tears clinging to his eyelashes. Just like his letter had promised, seeing him had proven his sincerity.

This person wasn't someone who would hurt him.

In fact, within just a few minutes of meeting him, he already had the impression that this was someone who would protect him with their life.

“Are you cold?” the man asked, noticing his shivering shoulders.

“N-no, I'm-”

It didn't matter what he tried to say. The man immediately removed his overcoat and draped it over his shoulders.

He wanted to thank him, but his voice halted in his throat when he saw the anguished look on his face.

“You... really don't remember me, do you?” he asked.

His reply made him feel guilty, even if there was nothing for him to feel guilty for. “It seems I remember your name. I remembered this smell too,” he said, weakly lifting up the letter, “but I can't recall anything else. I feel like there's more to remember inside of me, but the rest is probably incomplete.”

The man nodded his head slowly, processing his answer like a bad diagnosis. “Can I ask you something? It's a selfish question.”

He inclined his head, both curious and afraid of what he was about to ask. “I suppose so. Go on.”

The man looked at his hands.

“Who are you now?”

More puzzling than his question was his reason for calling it selfish. Caught by surprise, he could only answer honestly. “I don't know,” he said. If it weren't for his past self, he wouldn't be talking to this person, but the past was the past. He didn't know which part of him was speaking now. He had no name to tell him.

The man smiled a little sadly with acceptance. “I see. That's fine then,” he said, turning to look at him with his bloodshot eyes. “You see, meeting you made me question who I am. I'm not the same person anymore either.”

That made him wonder – what sort of person was he before?

Since he began hearing the voice, it made him afraid that the person he used to be was a bad person. Whenever he would turn around and look at the eyes that stared at him in the dark, though, they were nothing but kind and hopeful. There was more to him. That voice wasn't the only voice. There was another that had stayed silent, afraid to speak up. That had to have been the part of him that had influenced this man.

With a weak smile, he stood, holding the coat closed at the front.

“That makes two of us then,” he said. It was about time for him to go, he could tell. This had been about all he could handle for one night. “It was... It was really nice meeting you. I had better head back now, though.”

As he reached up to take off the coat, the man stood up and put his hands over his shoulders to keep it there. “It's fine. You should keep it on. I'll walk you home too, if you'd like,” he said hopefully.

It would be rude of him to refuse the coat now, but he had to refuse his other offer. “That probably wouldn't be a good idea. I'm going to assume you know a bit about me, so you should know why I wouldn't want anyone to see us together.”

He hung his head. “We'll see each other again, won't we?”

Finally, he smiled. “I'm sure we will. After all, I'll have to give you back your coat,” he said. Then, extending his hand, he added, “It was nice meeting you.”

He could feel the relief that he saw on the man's face as he smiled back at him.

Rather than taking his hand, he pulled him into another embrace. Pressing his nose to his shoulder, the man breathed in deeply and exhaled a wave of feelings. There was more for him to say, but he was holding it in for now. This one meeting seemed to satisfy him for the time being. Soon enough, they would meet again.

Pulling back, he held a palm to his cheek and wiped away what tears remained.

“It was nice to meet you, too.”


End file.
